School holidays. Day one.

So, in between all these bouts of backup madness, I was treated to ‘a show’. The ticket promised that it would be ‘the most halarias show in the world’.

It was called ‘The Disgusting and Rude Show’.

Before the lights went down, I was warned that it was ‘a bit PG’.

Which it was, featuring as it did, ‘the rude finger’ (all four of them) and farts live on stage.

I know I shouldn’t have laughed.

Testing. Testing. 1. 2. 3. Is this thing on?

I’ve been doing a bit of an update of wordpress. Not to 2.5, because I’m using fantastico on cpanel, which hasn’t upgraded that far yet. Did I blind you with my science? You know I don’t have a clue about what I just said, don’t you?

Anyway, it’s going quite well so far. For example, my blog hasn’t totally disappeared. Though several draft posts are nowhere to be found. They were probably crap anyway.

The real thing I’m hoping to do is have better photo functionality. Do you like the way I used functionality? That’s my first time. I love the sound of it, even though I strongly oppose the use of such ridiculous words.

So, here’s a photo. I just found it while I was doing aforesaid backups. I went to London a couple of years ago. By myself. It rocked.

Are you impressed? I’ve said fantastico, functionality, and I’ve been to London.

 

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I think they’ve eaten two (previously) full packets of cruskits in the past ten minutes

At the moment, I am backing up my photos, so that I can delete some from my computer, so that my computer is no longer so close to full that it keeps breaking. Over the last few weeks, I’ve even deleted the acrobat reader programme, just to try and leave some space so that I didn’t have to attend to this awful job.

Part of the problem is that the photos are not organised. They’re just in dated folders. This seems no way to begin the long-term storage process. But if I wait for the day that I get around to organising them properly, then…well, as you know that day may never come.

Meantime, I have oodles of spiffy new photos taken with the spiffy new camera the mister gave me for Christmas (he is ace at presents, he really is). None of them have made it off the camera, because the computer doesn’t even have room for the software.

So, in the spirit of getting things off my to-do list, I am just doing things. Whether or not the pre-conditions are perfect.

‘At the moment, I am backing up my photos…’ it sounds so simple, doesn’t it? But it comes with all those messages with which I am sure you are familiar. Messages about ‘media’ ‘not recognised’ about ‘disk full’ and ‘windows is shutting down’ and this little yellow dinosaur icon which appears when my computer is thinking thoughts it apparently can not think.

I don’t need to tell you any more about my state of mind, do I? And yet, I feel the need to bore you with myself a little more. After all, I have nothing else to do, but wait for the next odd error message. So, just now, I said to my boys: ‘maybe you should play outside, because this job is giving me the ‘sh’ word’. To which they could only say ‘do you mean the shits or the shut ups?’ And to think, we’ve got three invitations to play in the pipeline.

Meanwhile, we have taken the dog back to the vet to get his stitches removed. As the vet observed ‘castration hasn’t calmed him down yet, has it?’ And then, he looked, as my youngest boy hit my eldest boy with the door snake which I think is there for waiting dogs to play with. I wish I could tell you that he (the vet) looked at me, eyebrow raised significantly. It would give meaning (unkown, but meaning nonetheless) to an otherwise pointless post
But he did not.

Must away. Current project is burned. Apparently.

Red bowl

The problem with parties is not so much that, for the first time in several months, you must find, then extricate, the red bowl from the back of the corner cupboard in the laundry;

the problem is not that said red bowl reminds you of all that you no longer are and becomes the straw that breaks the camel’s back which becomes a flood of two pm tears;

indeed, as the night goes on and your glass is not only half-full, but re-fullable, this reminder becomes one of the joys of parties;

and the problem is not even that the red bowl must be washed after sitting overnight with a particularly sticky dip stuck to it.

No.

The problem with parties is, that once found, extricated, cried over, used, laughed over, washed and dried, the red bowl must be put away. In the back of the corner cupboard in the laundry.

Someone really should take the dog to the vet to get his stitches out

So I spent Wednesday afternoon on a bench at the beach, sometimes sobbing, mostly staring. Nothing that the rest of you don’t have going on in your lives, but sometimes it does all catch up, doesn’t it?

I find the beach recuperative on one level, and yet it always leaves me yearning.

I had a baguette for lunch.

Then yesterday I went and delivered (this is the technical term) my manuscript which is slowly but surely transforming itself into a novel. So, yay. Like totally, awesomely, yay.

I had a baguette for lunch.

With a glass of wine. In celebration.

It left me nodding off in the school assembly.